


Holmes

by distantstarlight



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Brothers, Family Feels, M/M, Nonverbal Communication, Relationship(s), i have no idea how to tag this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-15 03:52:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8041474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantstarlight/pseuds/distantstarlight
Summary: From the outside, the relationship between Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes seems indifferent and contentious. Neither man is easy to know, and their personalities are often successfully stand-offish and distant. There are many differences between them; their age, their looks, and their interests. Still, blood is a tie that binds no matter what.





	Holmes

**Author's Note:**

> It's really late and I'm massively exhausted but I began jotting this down and just kept going until it seemed to be over. Let me know what you think.
> 
> d

Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes were brothers. This fact was undeniable. They clashed on almost every point and yet were remarkably alike in both taste as well as sensibility. Each man was frighteningly intelligent, devious, manipulative, preternaturally perceptive, and guarded. They had their opposite characteristics as well. Where Mycroft was icy stillness, Sherlock was a tempestuous firestorm. Never once had any living person, including their progenitors, ever known either of them exchange gestures of mutual loving support with the other. They fought with words instead of fists, their arguments convoluted, lasting years sometimes. It made their parents despair.

Still, Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes were brothers. They battled each other viciously, but let any other person attempt to do the same, well, then the _Brothers Holmes_ demonstrated a different sort of relationship. From the outside, no one would ever be able to tell, not even if they were watching closely, but hurt one and the other was sure to make you pay dearly.

By the time Sherlock was in his teens and Mycroft was already completing university, their strange affections for one another had finally reached a stage of unvoiced perfection. A rival of Mycroft’s had become menacing; the government position the boys were vying for too ripe a plum not to fight over. Instead of besting Mycroft in grades, an impossible task, the young man had decided to attempt to blackmail his classmate with tales of indiscretion with a certain other classmate. In and of itself, the dalliance had been harmless, but the other boy had parents who lived very public and very conservative lives. News of his experiments with a lover of the same gender would certainly _ruin_ many things. The rival had been gleeful because Mycroft said nothing. He had no need.

Enter Sherlock, spotty, his body more gangly than willowy and his face still faintly rounded with traces of baby fat that he couldn’t seem to lose despite his age, with wild unkempt hair, and torn denim trousers. In a single afternoon, simply by walking about the school grounds and having innocent seeming conversations with a variety of students and teachers, Sherlock managed to gather a large series of rather disconcerting facts about the boy in question, facts that, _if revealed_ , would not possibly ruin him, it would most certainly do so, and likely take his upright and priggish family with him. Thanks to that afternoon stroll, Mycroft graduated uncontested at the top of his class, and calmly accepted the job immediately offered him. His rival went on to live a disappointing and uneventful life, never again testing his strength against the Holmes fraternity.

Victor Trevor was Sherlock’s first romantic liaison. They had the same advanced chemistry class and graduated from being lab partners to being something _more_. Sherlock found Victor’s kisses to be extremely pleasant to enjoy, but not as wonderful as the drugs he provided. It wasn’t until weeks into his brand-new addiction that Sherlock learned that Victor had a bevy of young men waiting on him, all addicts, and every last one of them earning their hits by selling themselves to Victor’s network of high-profile friends. It was how he was paying his way through school, unnecessary since he came from money, just like Sherlock, but the game amused him. Attempting to divest Sherlock of his virginity had been an enjoyable detour, but his end goal was to add the young scientist to his stable. Sherlock didn’t say a word when he learned the truth. He didn’t need to.

Victor Trevor began to experience little problems. His bank cards needed replacing because the magnetic strips stopped working, and the chips were defective. During the visit, his credit card accounts were accidentally frozen by the banks due to a glitch in their software, and it took days before the strange issue had been resolved. In the meantime, the glitch allowed petty thieves on another continent to enjoy unlimited access to Mr. Trevor’s accounts, draining at least one of them completely dry, and making solid inroads on the rest before the bank could put a stop to it. When Victor went back to his posh flat he discovered that the entire area needed to be sprayed against an invasive moth species, the whole street was to be tented. Annoyed, he tried to call his driver back only to discover that his mobile service had been terminated. All his neighbors had been temporarily evacuated so there was no one nearby to loan them their mobiles to use. While he was trudging toward a small coffee shop he often frequented, Victor was savagely assaulted, his wallet and accessories stolen along with his coat, shirt, and bespoke suit, right down to his belt and shoes. Bleeding and limping, dressed only in a vest and boxers, he tried to gain access to the shop, only to learn that it was closed. That was just the beginning of his personal misery. Victor Trevor’s luck continued along that vein for weeks until he was completely broke, homeless, and resignedly being forced to live with his aged parents once again until he could get himself sorted. He never saw Sherlock again.

Mycroft and Sherlock were brothers, but despite how they guarded each other’s back, things still got messy. Victor Trevor had been vanquished, but the lure of drugs had not. Sherlock was helpless to resist, and a new silence began. Sherlock fell into the abyss time and again, but Mycroft’s hand was always there to catch him. With his attention split, it was inevitable that his enemies would use his distractions against him, and it worked. For the first time in his life, Mycroft began to fear because his enemy wouldn’t stop with just him. He would take Sherlock too. As it was, one of them would almost certainly die.

Enter a limping, nightmare ridden, scarred and fractured soldier whose sacrifice for his country included his career as a surgeon. Despite his travails or perhaps because of them, John took to Sherlock like no one else ever had, and in astonishment, Mycroft witnessed true friendship for the first time in his entire life. It was undemanding and fulfilling for both men, and because of it, Sherlock turned his back on his old fight with narcotics, and gave it all up for his new addiction, Doctor John Watson. John reveled in Sherlock’s unfettered nature. It brought him to life, and almost overnight, John became the solid bedrock that grounded the younger man. They fought crime together, and their effortless love was openly admired by all, even if neither man once admitted it to anyone, not even themselves.

Mycroft kept close watch, as was his habit, and because of it, his eye was thoroughly caught. It confused and frightened him, and he didn’t know what to say, but then, he didn’t need to. Sherlock introduced him to Detective Inspector Lestrade, insisting that the DI always contact Mycroft first, should anything _untoward_ occur. Mycroft ended up receiving calls from the silvery-haired man at all hours of the day and night, and when he looked into it, he found that he admired the tireless effort that Lestrade put into his job. It wasn’t overnight, but eventually, Mycroft managed to find a place in his large sterile flat to contain the riotous mess that Gregory existed in. He’d never experienced anyone like him before. Mycroft’s previous lovers had all been professionals, paid for their silence. Greg was anything but silent. He was loud, brash, earthy, and very _physical_. It was bliss, but Mycroft never said a word to Sherlock about it. He didn’t need to.

Mycroft and Sherlock gave each other away at their wedding, Greg and John grinning widely at the alter where they waited for their husbands-to-be. The arrangement was unusual, but for the first time, everyone could finally see how Sherlock and Mycroft felt about one another. No one said a thing. They didn’t need to.


End file.
